New
by theblueeyedfirebender
Summary: Of all the things his hands have held - from dragon eggs and ancient texts to the element of Fire itself - this is the most precious, the most powerful: a new generation, one born into a world without war. Zutara.


**Southern Water Tribe, ten years after Sozin's Comet**

Nothing can compare to a polar sunrise, Zuko thinks.

The young Firelord drags his fur-lined boots through a fresh layer of untouched powder, his chin tilted towards golden rays of sun that have just begun coloring the tundra in a pinkish glow. In his mitted palms, he carries a small mug, it's contents releasing steam into the frigid morning air. The structures surrounding him, constructed of ice and snow, glisten as the new daylight strikes their surfaces. Fire meets ice, he ponders with an upward turn of his lips, and the world is a more beautiful place.

The city is quiet, for now. The people of the Southern Water Tribe have a propensity for sleeping in. At this hour, in the Fire Nation capital, the streets would already be bustling with citizens, rising with the sun. Not here.

But Zuko doesn't mind this, he decides. Morning walks on his own are a rare luxury, nowadays. A security threat, his advisors tell him. There are some things which wealth and power can't buy.

A chill wind sweeps across the street, and Zuko burrows his nose into the knit scarf that covers the lower half of his face, inhaling deeply. It smells of smoke and sweetberries, the scent of his wife's homeland.

He's been married to Katara for seven months, now. Six, if you're only counting the time since their rigidly official and ridiculously extravagant Fire Nation wedding. They'd wanted something simple, small, but the Fire Sages had insisted. The Firelord marrying a waterbender was breaking with tradition enough, they demanded. To limit the spectacle of a royal wedding in any way was to tempt the Fire Nation's nobility to challenge the validity of the union.

And so, Zuko and Katara conceded. The Sages had a point: the Fire Nation had undergone tumultuous change in the decade since Sozin's Comet. Peace had not come easily, especially for a land so accustomed to war, and the nation needed a boost of pride. The pomp and circumstance of the Firelord's wedding was exactly the kind of celebration the people craved.

However, just a few weeks before the long-anticipated day, the couple quietly chose to travel to the South Pole, under the guise of a short diplomatic trip coupled with visits to the bride's family. Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, it had been here, in a land of snow and ice, surrounded by a people who were not his own, where the Firelord first committed his life and loyalty to a woman of water.

Still walking, Zuko can hardly contain the smile that crosses his face at the memory. These quiet streets had been washed in full moonlight, and filled with the echo of drums and dancing feet. Voices of the tribespeople lifted in song, foreign and bewitching to his ears, the sound sending chills up his spine and scalp.

And Katara, she was magnificent. Dark hair beaded and braided in the customary way, she looked like the very embodiment of water itself.

It had been during the whirlwind of their reception that they learned of the thing would bring them back to the South Pole, to the bottom of the world, seven months later. Zuko recalled the way Suki had pulled Katara aside, speaking low into her ear, and he had watched in curiosity as his bride's eyes grew wide and sparkling.

Zuko's boots stop at the familiar doorway. For a moment, he considers knocking, but thinks better of it and, instead, quietly pushes the heavy door aside with a shoulder.

Katara is alone in the main room, kneeling near an unlit cooking fire, elbow-deep in a bowl of lumpy dough. Her thick hair is tied behind her neck with a piece of sinew, a few flyaways framing her face haphazardly. She's wearing the same clothes as yesterday, Zuko notes, unsurprised. She glances over her shoulder at him, and the darkness beneath her blue eyes confirms what he already knows: she hasn't slept.

"Hey." she greets him with a half smile, arms working ceaselessly on the mountain of quivering dough before her.

"Hi." he responds, pulling off his gloves and setting them on a nearby table, careful to keep the mug from spilling it's precious cargo. Hands freed, he urges heat into his palms, quickly bringing the tea to steam again. "Brought you something." he tells her, crossing the room to sit across from her.

Katara's eyes jump between his face, the mug in his hands, and back again. She quirks an eyebrow. "Did you - ?"

"No." he replies, feigning offense. "I used one of those tea bags Uncle gave us for our honeymoon."

"Ah." she smirks, "Meant to stimulate the desires, if I'm remembering right?"

Despite himself, Zuko feels heat rise in his face. "I was just hoping it would wake you up."

"Sure." she rolls her eyes good naturedly, returning her attention to the dough, "Unfortunately, your Firelady is a bit preoccupied at the moment, tea will have to wait."

"But it'll get cold." he presses, teasing.

"Spirits, did I marry a firebender for _nothing?_" she quips, returning his grin. "Speaking of which, do you mind?" With the tilt of her head, she gestures to the unlit cooking fire.

"Yeah, sure." Zuko stands, pulling off his heavy parka, and moves to the corner of the room to collect an armload of firewood. "How was your night?"

"It went...smoothly." Katara answers slowly. "Suki did really well, and Sokka didn't pass out, which was a pleasant surprise."

Zuko snorts under his breath. "Guess I owe your dad a bucket of fire flakes."

"Everyone's fine, which is the most important thing." she continues, "They're resting now. I just couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd make them a batch of saltwater biscuits. Suki won't feel up to making meals for a little while, and Sokka can't cook to save his life, so it's the least I can do."

Zuko nods, arranging pieces of firewood carefully in the circle. Yesterday had been a storm of activity. Suki went into labor almost first thing in the morning, and the rest of the day became a blur of fetching water, getting rags, and reminding Sokka to breathe. At some point, Zuko had slumped against one of the walls in this room and, when he woke up, Katara was shaking his shoulder, eyes rimmed with happy tears. _It's a boy._

Somehow, from there he'd made his way back to their place down the street, and into bed.

At his command, sparks erupt from Zuko's fingers and catch on the dry bark, growing steadily into flames. Katara smiles at him. "Thanks. Once that gets down to coals, I'll -"

She stops suddenly, straightening her neck and fixing her eyes on the doorway to the next room. At first, Zuko doesn't hear it. He opens his mouth to ask, but stops short his ears detect the feeble sound. It reminds him of the plaintive mews of a baby Fire Ferret, calling for its mother.

Under her breath, Katara curses, looking down at her arms still slathered to the elbow in sticky dough. The cries have already started to grow stronger, more insistent. Zuko meets her eyes, and knows her words before she speaks. "Zuko, please, could you - "

"Katara, I can't - "

"You have to!"

"But - "

"He'll wake up Sokka and Suki!"

"So? They're the parents!"

"Zuko!"

"I-I have no idea how to handle one of those...things!"

She frowns. "It's called a _baby_. And I fed him and changed him less than an hour ago. He probably just wants to be held. Now, please, just go pick him up before he wakes the entire village!"

"But how do I…" he trails off, gesturing wildly. The cries are becoming even louder, demanding.

"You support his head with one hand and hold his body with the other. It's simple, Zuko. Now, please!"

He starts toward the nursery, clenching and unclenching his hands a few times. His pulse is quick. Why does he feel like he's about to face an opponent?

He pushes past the heavy buffalo yak skin that serves as the nursery door. Blinking a few times, his eyes adjust to the dim light. The room is small, cozy. A bassinet hangs from the rafters, made of tiger seal hide stretched over curved bones and lined with rich white fur. Only a step forward and Zuko is looking into the face of the wailing newborn.

_Tiny_, he thinks, _so tiny_. The baby's round face is flushed pink with crying, eyes squeezed shut against the world. Little limbs kick beneath the binding of his swaddling cloth, frustrated. Thick brown hair already covers his head, and Zuko almost smiles. A family trait.

How long has it been since he's seen an infant? Never, it seems, though he knows that isn't true. Azula was a baby, once, but he had been so little himself that he has no memory of that time. Mai's little brother, Tom-Tom, he can recall, but even he wasn't this small, this...new.

The child's wails have become piercing. Zuko struggles to collect himself. What did Katara say? One hand supporting the head, one hand supporting the body. Rigidly, brow furrowed, Zuko attempts, sliding a careful palm under the base of the neck, and another under the swaddled body. The baby is so small, and his hands feel too large, clumsy, for this precious package. Zuko sets his feet apart in a ready stance. Gently, gently, he lifts the child out of the bassinet.

Moving his arms carefully, he transfers the baby's head to rest in the bend of his elbow, cradling the tiny, wriggling body against his chest securely. The cries dampen to whimpers, and the tension that strains Zuko's shoulders starts to ease. With a measured breath, kicks his core temperature up a few degrees.

The newborn quiets. Katara was right, of course, he just wanted to be held. The Firelord stares into the tiny face, emotion twisting in his gut. Of all the things his hands have held - from dragon eggs and ancient texts to the element of Fire itself - this is the most precious, the most powerful: a new generation, one born into a world without war. A fresh start. Redemption.

One little hand has broken free of the swaddle, and Zuko marvels. Five pink fingers, wrinkled knuckles, a chubby palm. Do they carry the power to control water? Or will they fashion weapons and inventions? Or, perhaps, they will do something else entirely. Time will tell. For now, Zuko offers the little hand his index finger, and feels his chest swell.

His thoughts are abruptly shattered by the firm slap of a strong hand on his shoulder. Zuko jolts, turning his head sharply to find his bleary-eyed brother-in-law leaning against him. Sokka rubs a tired hand over his face, grazing a new growth of stubble apparent on his jawline, and gives the Firelord a lopsided grin.

"Well, would you look at this," he declares, stifling a yawn, "Looks like Uncle Zuko's got the magic touch."

The words hit Zuko like lightning; chills race to his fingertips. He turns his face back to the newborn in his arms, now sleeping soundly against the warmth of his chest. _Uncle…_

Something inside of Zuko shifts.

Sokka is still talking, but Zuko doesn't hear him. Again, he's lost in thoughts of this child, his _nephew_.

The Firelord straightens, shifting the little bundle slightly in his arms as a rush of memories flood him: wisdom, parables, lessons of life. Uncertainty starts to give way to resolution. There is much to pass on.

**Author's Note:** Hello all! Thank you for reading _New_, my first valid attempt at Zutara fanfiction in quite some time. I've been a passive member of the Avatar fandom since 2008, so this is a big step for me. If you think this story sounds familiar, it's likely because I published a much shorter fic of a similar plot on a now-deleted Tumblr a few years ago. That said, please review! I'd love to know your thoughts. XOXO


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